


Kinloch Hold

by Whatevergirl



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-26
Updated: 2016-08-11
Packaged: 2018-03-09 04:59:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3237200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whatevergirl/pseuds/Whatevergirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt from Dragon Age Kink Meme, Round 5 Page 3: 'AU where Dorian, for whatever reason, is a Circle mage in the same vein as the origins mage warden, and Cullen is the templar completely infatuated with him.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Did you hear? Amell passed his Harrowing!”

“He’s a gifted mage. Of course he did.”

“I bet my Harrowing is going to be next.”

“Come off it.”

“No, really. First Enchanter Irving was dropping some pretty obvious hints to me.”

“If they hear you talking like that, you’ll never get to take your Harrowing.”

“Piss off, Dorian. You could try being happy for me.”

Whispers were often heard, muted conversations in the Tower’s stone confines. Raised voices were a rare thing as no one wanted a Templar’s attention too focussed on them, even the First Enchanter only just spoke above a whisper and Greagoir trusted him and his ability to resist possession completely.

However, the Circle Tower of Kinloch Hold clasped within her walls more than just the Mages and Templars who were immediately obvious; she was also home to many depravities and problems, privy to secrets, both good and ill. And those with magical talent who were caught in her embrace rarely escaped.

In the past, the First Enchanter had been understanding of his Mages when they asked for leave. They could head out to sit by the lake, or visit a nearby village, or perhaps even go for a walk in the surrounding countryside. There had been objections though, folk from the nearby villages complaining, comments passed along by farmers out in their fields, children who mentioned things to the chantry sisters; the Mages of Kinloch Hold were not supervised properly, the Mages were terrorising both towns-folk and animals, the Mages were running around unchecked, free to summon whatever they liked and spell cast wherever they wished. 

Of course, there was no real truth to this. No Mage ever left the Tower without a Templar in tow, they rarely did anything more than enjoy a breath of fresh air once out the musty old stone rooms, and there was only one recorded incident of a Mage harming a villager, which was in response to the villager deeming it appropriate to attack the Mage in question, but still the Seekers came. 

They say the Seekers only visit a place if it is truly troubled. They call them the Seekers of Truth, but in their ranks, they hold secrets of their own; though these secrets of rarely anything too dire, there is a bias amongst the Seekers, a bias the majority of Thedas believed also, the idea that Mages ought to be imprisoned, for both their own safety and the safety of others. 

First Enchanter Irving tried desperately to convince the Seekers that the claims against them held no truth, but the Seekers could not see any truth but their own. They saw Mages who could receive a pass for no reason other than to sit outside. They saw how the Templars held a comfortable friendship with a number of their charges. They saw the close relationship between Irving and Greagoir.

They decided they had seen enough and instructed Kinloch Hold to tighten its restrictions. No Mage was to go outside unless they had a valid reason, a reason that was to be discussed by more than just the First Enchanter. The Templars were to keep a respectable distance from the Mages to avoid losing perspective, this went for the First Enchanter and Knight Commander too. Mages were to obey the curfew that had been in place for centuries, but rarely bothered with. 

The list went on. Though the response seemed petty to many, the Mages were forced to obey, the risk of the Seekers returning and beginning a hunt for any ‘possessed Mages’ too great for them to ignore. 

By 9:28 Dragon, there were some Mages in the Tower who had never been outside since they had shown magical talent. Mages who couldn’t remember the feel of rain on their face, or what grass felt like… there were even Mages who had been taken at a young age with no memory of what a tree was like. After all, looking at a picture in a book did not help when they had been inside for over a decade. The way out had been barred to all but a few Mages for over 15 years.

Mages were taken to Towers, usually between the ages of 6 and 12, when untrained magical talent was likely to spark at some point; although there were mages who avoided this fate, apostates who learned to control their magic early enough that they were safe from suspicious neighbours. 

However, in Kinloch Hold there was one young man who had not entered the Tower in the usual way.

At the age of 7, Dorian Pavus had been taken from his family’s summer home in Southern Tevinter and dragged to the backwater country of Ferelden, where the stranger had proceeded to blackmail his family. Halward Pavus had refused to stoop to giving in to blackmail. He had sent people out to retrieve his son, but it was too late. The stranger had started shouting about this boy being a Mage, about how he had seen him talking to a wisp and how he may be possessed.

The boy was taken to Kinloch Hold, where he was questioned in a language he didn’t understand, deemed an apostate (for he did have magical talent but it was trained, in deference to the fact that it was uncouth to accidently set a noble’s dress on fire) and marched off to his new life.

By the time the child had grown into a young man, he too had little memory of outside. He had a few scant memories of another life; of hot summers, of tall parents scolding him for slouching, of the sun as it travelled its beloved path across the sky, with the moon creeping along behind it. They were distant though, like his knowledge of Tevene; he knew a sentence or two of his native language, but he couldn’t even tell people what his native language was called. As a child, home had always just been home and the idea of Tevinter and there being other countries had never cropped up.

Still, he could swear in Tevene, with an echo of a woman’s voice scolding him for using foul language. He couldn’t remember her words, more the tone, but he clung to the idea it was his mother. 

There were those in the circle who could remember their mothers, those who had only been in the circle a short time and those who had entered at an older age. However, Dorian did not want to discuss his family with them. He did not want to consider others, not when he could remember years of bitterness as he learnt the language, as he struggled with basic understandings of things he had never needed before and had had to endure their laughter as he puzzled out squiggles on the page.

Dorian was, by no means, the only child who had been unable to read anything written in the King’s Tongue, but he was the only one unable to speak it. As a result, the child had grown spending his time with his tutors and with his books. Occasionally he had asked about outside while he had grown, and Enchanter Wynne (the most patient of his tutors) had only occasionally answered him. 

By the time Dorian reached 19 years of age (the same age as the future Hero of Ferelden, though Dorian marked his birthday on the day entered the Tower, as he had been unable to tell anyone his birth date when he had first arrived as opposed to his actual birth date and no one really celebrated any year but their 18th in the Kinloch Hold), the young man no longer asked about outside. He did not wonder what the sky looked like, and if it was a bright blue. He was not concerned with anything more troublesome than whether or not to grow a moustache. 

Well, perhaps that was not entirely true. There were two other things that sat at the back of his mind. The first was whether or not he would ever get to take his Harrowing, something he was old enough to do since passing his 18th birthday but had apparently yet to impress the First Enchanter enough to have his try. 

The second had to do with a Templar. He was one of the youngest in the Tower, only a year or two older than Dorian, and he was gorgeous. The Mage was unsure of how to approach him though, as he had never partaken of the regular pass time of so many mages in the Circle; no, for a little over two years now, Dorian had had his sights set on Cullen.

Unfortunately, for all that there were thousands of books throughout the Tower, not one explained how to seduce a Templar. There were a few fiction books dotted about the place, but one had to search to find them, and many were about princesses being rescued from Towers by a Knight in Shining Armour. It seemed thoroughly unfair that there were so many Knights in Well Polished Armour here, but not one of them was inclined to rescue Dorian from this place; not that he particularly wanted to be compared to a princess, but he was awfully attractive.

The thought had Dorian frowning once more into his small shaving glass as he debated on a moustache. Would Cullen like one? Would it look dashing? Should he ask someone their opinion?

Looking up, Dorian sighed. He was not popular, having never gone out of his way to form friendships with anyone. Of course, there were a couple of fellow apprentice Mages who spoke to him, aware that his silence and ability to blend into the shadows let him hear all sorts of gossip… and in Kinloch Hold, where few pass times went unnoticed by Templars, gossip was frequently ground up in the rumour mill and spewed back out, mixed with numerous falsehoods.

The other main pass time was sex; trysts in empty rooms and empty corridors, brief embraces in Kinloch Hold’s passages as people rushed to finish before they were spotted by any roaming Templars.

Perhaps he could ask someone? Clenching his fists into the deep purple material on his apprentice robe, Dorian considered his options and the possible consequences. Could he ask someone? Was he willing to subject himself to the whispers of the other Mages that he had mostly managed to avoid so far? Was it worth it?

Standing, Dorian shook his head and hurried out the dormitory. No. The answer was unequivocally no. There was no way he would willingly put himself through that, not when there was no escape, no way to avoid the people who gossiped, not when he was likely to be around them until he passed his Harrowing, and likely beyond that when they accomplished the same and joined him in the Harrowed Mage Quarters on the next floor up.

Moving quickly, Dorian hurried to where the other man was most frequently posted, near Irving’s office. 

“Oh, h-hello.” Cullen gave him a slight grin once he caught sight of the young Mage. “I-uhh, how have you been?”

“Are you alright?” Dorian asked, his smooth voice a vast contrast to his thundering heart.

“Yes. Yes, I… I’ve never done a Harrowing before.” Cullen’s hazel eyes seemed haunted as he stared off to the side. “I was picked as the Templar to deliver the killing blow if… if… Well, you know.”

Dorian smiled sadly as Cullen’s shoulders sagged. They weren’t exactly friends, never had conversations longer than 10 stuttering minutes, but Dorian was quite taken with him and it tugged at his heartstrings to watch the man’s misery.

“Are you alright?” He asked again, feeling calmer now and he stepped forwards to lay a hand on his chest, his shoulders being too awkward with the Templar Armour on. 

“Y-yes. I’m more relieved than anything. Greagoir said that Amell’s Harrowing was the quickest and easiest he’d ever seen!”

“How did you find it?” He asked, curiosity welling up inside him, lending him the courage to step closer.

“Ah, y-you know I can’t talk about that.” He rubbed his metal encased fingers over the scruff on his chin and grinned wryly at Dorian. “Sorry.”

“I wish they would tell us what to expect.” Dorian sighed, leaning against the wall beside Cullen.

“No you don’t.” Cullen replied, though his voice was pitched so low that Dorian rather suspected he wasn’t supposed to hear it. 

“Do you have time to join me in the library?” Dorian blurted out. “Venhedis, I meant to ask better than that.”

“Ask me better… to go to the library?” Confusion bled into Cullen’s expression as he looked over at the younger man.

“Indeed.” Dorian did his best to look seductive, though he suspected it wasn’t working when Cullen excused himself to go attend his ‘other duties’. 

Regardless, he would find a way to make this happen. There had to be a book somewhere it the library that would inform him on how to get Cullen to notice him.


	2. Chapter 2

“Did you hear? There was a Grey Warden here!”

“Here? Really? Was he recruiting?”

“They say he took Amell with him.”

“Seriously? He only just passed his Harrowing!”

“He is Irving’s favourite.”

Life in the Circle Tower of Kinloch Hold was in many ways steady. There was a set routine and a set way of living that was little impacted by anything beyond the stone walls. Rumours of the Fifth Blight had yet to reach the Tower, sectioned off from the rest of the world as they were, and though a Grey Warden had come and gone, his visit wasn’t elevated above gossip, and there were other happenings, such as what had happened to Jowan, that soon replaced it.

Dorian was still pursuing Cullen. It had only been a few weeks, but he still felt like he was getting nowhere. However, Dorian had cooled off his plan of attack. 

He was currently sulking quietly in his room, a lack of energy belying his misery. The last time Cullen had ran away from him, he had yelped something about shameful behaviour. Dorian did not truly understand why it bothered him so much, but every time his mind drifted back to it, his eyes stung and his throat clogged up.

He buried his arm back into the blue fabric of his robes. It shouldn’t hurt to have someone disapprove of his behaviour, and it wasn’t even as though he was particularly depraved or obscene, he just wanted Cullen’s attention… and perhaps a kiss off the man… The Templar did not need to act as though the idea was so horrific.

At this point, Dorian once again began thinking about theory of magic. He began thinking about the different thoughts on how mana interacts with mages in a way it can’t with others, because his current train of thought could not lead anywhere good.

As Dorian’s sobs subsided and he drifted off to sleep, a young man with blond curly hair stood outside the door to the male apprentice dorms. He was tugging his fingers roughly through his hair as he stood listening to the pain he had caused the Mage. 

Cullen stepped forwards and pressed a hand to the door, wishing desperately that he could comfort Dorian. But how could he? Templars were there to both protect Mages and protect others from Mages, how could he possibly remain objective about his task if he allowed himself to return Dorian’s affections.

He did though. So much so that watching the young Mage wilt was painful to him. Others didn’t care much for Dorian; he listened to the chatter that circulated around the Tower and he knew that people continued to talk about Jowan, the idea of having had a Blood Mage living with them seemed to horrify many of the apprentices. There was still conversation about who was likely to go for their Harrowing next, and even amongst the Templars, rumours about who was sleeping with which Mages made regular rounds. 

Life went on, and yet Cullen was here. He was in simple clothing, having finished his duties for the day earlier and now stood by this door. Should he go in? He always tried to avoid going into the dormitories, not only because the Mages had little enough privacy as it was, but also because Cullen had an uncanny knack for coming across people having a quick romp, be it up against a wall, or on a desk, or clinging to a bookcase… 

Slowly, he began to push to door open, eyes quickly scanning the room to make sure he wasn’t going to encounter anyone but Dorian. The younger man must have scared them all away with his tears though, because for once the dormitory had only one other person in it, and he was asleep.

Cullen made his way over, dropping to his knees and wondering what to do. Dorian’s face showed clearly the evidence of his pain, tears still wet on his cheeks, even though his breathing was soft and even.

Pale finger gently traced the smooth skin of his nose, over his cheeks and down to the dark stubble that Cullen had never seen before. He didn’t look well. His whole body was exhausted and Cullen rather suspected that he had not been going to his meals, though he was unnoticed enough that his comings and goings rarely entered the Circle’s rumour mill. 

And wasn’t that bizarre. Cullen couldn’t quite understand how people were not fascinated by Dorian. He shuffled closer, until he was pressed against the bed frame, his face inches from Dorian’s. 

Could he do it? Could he do his duty and be close to Dorian? He had heard the rumours that Knight Commander Greagoir was in a relationship of sorts with First Enchanter Irving, though they were so old that Cullen did his best not to wonder what the nature of their relationship was… But, if the Knight Commander could manage it, surely Cullen could try?

After all, if Dorian was possessed, he would surely want Cullen to strike him down. He would not want his body being used against his will. So, Cullen would hurt if it came to it, but was it better to ignore the chance for this one small happiness out of fear of losing it?

He made up the last distance and pressed his lips carefully to Dorian’s, before jumping back slightly. He should wait. He would wait until the other woke up.

Cullen curled his legs up and stared at Dorian’s face as he waited, but inactivity often breeds an active mind, and his thoughts began to rush. For once though, they were not on whether or not this was acceptable, but the worry that other apprentices would return before Dorian stirred.

Feeling daring despite his trembling hands, Cullen clutched at the man’s shoulder and shook him awake.

“Hm, wha-?” Dorian stuttered before his eyes caught Cullen’s. “How can I help you?” his tone curiously empty.

“I… I fear I must apologise.” Cullen realised he was still gripping that shoulder and dropped his hand into his lap. “I… It’s just… I didn’t… I’m sorry.”

It must be said that Cullen struggled to act calmly around Dorian at the best of time. He found the young man desperately attractive and found that nerves often robbed him of his speech when Dorian was near, a fact a few other Templars were aware of and mocked him mercilessly for, if in good humour. Though that was neither here nor there for Cullen as he knelt by Dorian’s side, for the other Templars did not cross his mind, despite the fact that they did nothing for his confidence in the matter.

Regardless, Cullen chose to resolve the matter by surging forwards to press their lips together again, unable to speak the words but hoping Dorian would understand. Dorian, as it happened, felt hope blossom in his chest as he stretched his arms out and around Cullen’s shoulders. Though his eyes glistened slightly, Dorian's smile kept Cullen from worrying.

“I hope I can earn your forgiveness.” He whispered, feeling like a child in need of guidance. 

“You already have it.” Dorian replied, barely speaking above a whisper. “Now get up here.”

Cullen scrambled up like an over eager puppy trying to get onto its master’s lap, but once settled above him, he began to practice his scarcely explored skills to lay claim to Dorian’s mouth. Dorian, for his part, simply enjoyed the weight of Cullen over him, the chance to hold him without armour in the way and the reassuring moans that periodically escaped them both. Their youth could be evidenced by their actions as Cullen’s hips began twitching, rocking gently with arousal as it spread through him, leaving a heat in its wake so much more powerful than anything he had felt before. His overheated mind to no time to consider any of the possible outcomes, beyond the short term. 

Dorian, like Cullen, was like a child who had finally received a long desired gift; he was incredibly eager to get to what he had deemed the best part. The mage pushed Cullen off to the side, before hiking his robe up. It went as far as his waist, for he was unwilling to remove either his belt or his smalls.

“Well?” He raised his brow at Cullen, though his eagerness destroyed any chance he had of appearing cool about the whole thing. 

As Cullen struggled to unfastened his trousers and push them down, Dorian gaped unashamedly. However, it was probably for the best that he was so far from cool and excessively confident, as there was a fair chance it would have reminded Cullen of ‘other things he needed to be doing’ and send him running. As it was, Dorian’s visible nerves mingling with his enthusiasm encouraged Cullen that this wasn’t a mistake, and once his clothing was sorted, he stretched out over Dorian again and return to exploring his mouth.

The heat that spread from both their erections, so close and yet separated by their smalls was as exhilarating as it was terrifying; and yet the fear at both the newness of it and the feat of discovery added an unexpected thrill that had Dorian clamping his legs around his lover’s waist as Cullen dug his teeth into the Mage’s neck in an attempt to muffle the noises he couldn’t prevent.

“Get off me!” A furious shout echoed in the corridor just outside the room. 

The shock of it made Cullen spill over, staining his underwear as Dorian continued to rock up against him.

“Oh! Oh...” He whispered. “Oh my…”

He flicked wide, hazel eyes over at the door that he hadn’t shut properly, but his attention was soon drawn back to Dorian.

The man was gorgeous, sweat slick on his face, his hair a mess and his mouth hanging open with the force of his arousal. Cullen grinned and rolled off the man and settled at his side. Dorian followed, rolling over as his hips continued to roll.

The Templar took the opportunity to discover more about Dorian, the arm that was pressed into the mattress stretching out until it could touch his lover’s clothed chest, the other moving so that Cullen could slide his fingers into the back of Dorian’s smalls and touch the bare skin of his arse.

Dorian wriggled his hips back to feel the pressure of Cullen’s hand, panting as those pale fingers dug into the soft flesh. 

“Dorian? I think you might be perfect.” Whispered Cullen, his voice full of awe as he pushed his knee up in between his lover’s legs. 

Dorian wailed and came, completely overwhelmed by Cullen as the man observed him in tender fascination. 

As the two new lovers cuddled close, aware they would have to move soon but unwilling to part just yet, they were blissfully unaware of all around them.

They knew nothing of Uldred, who had just returned from Ostagar; of his plans with Loghain to become First Enchanter and his belief that blood magic was the way to advance. They were absorbed in their own world, in which abominations and demons had no place… at least, not yet.


	3. Chapter 3

“Did you hear? Uldred is back.”

“So? The man’s a horrific son of a bitch, I avoid him.”

“Me too, but there are 3 people who went to Ostagar and Uldred is the only one who made it back here.”

“I’m not asking questions. I don’t want to end up in isolation!”

“Hey, do you think Anders will be out soon? He’s been in there for a very long time.”

“I don’t think that guy is still alive.”

While very little news ever permeated the walls of Kinloch Hold, even the Mages held there knew that something strange was going on. For all that the Templars refused to discuss what was going on in the outside world, the rumours of a Blight made them even more tense and disagreeable than usual.

The Mages were still unaware of the Fifth Blight, but when Uldred returned rumours about him started up. The increased violence of certain Templars mixed in with the concern that Uldred had returned before Wynne had a plethora of rumours circling through the quietest of the dusty rooms. 

However, there was always someone in the Tower with no idea about what was being said. For once, Dorian was this Mage. Although he had always been tucked away with a book and half an ear listening out, he was now thoroughly distracted. 

Rumours no longer really registered with him for one simple reason: Templar Cullen Stanton Rutherford. 

Cullen was a frightened man, and in his fear he came to a firm decision: He would not let Dorian know about the threat of a Blight. If Dorian had any objections to Cullen distraction methods, he didn’t speak up.

Cullen supposed, as he pressed the man up against a wall, that Dorian may not have enough understanding of life outside the circle to be concerned by the threat of a Blight. Of course, if Cullen had taken a moment to reflect, he may have realised that it was not Dorian he was trying to distract.

“Not that …. Isn’t, ohh… quite wonderful, but- Ah!! But…” Dorian had one leg wrapped around Cullen’s hip and the other one spread as wide as his robes would allow.

“You want to talk now?” Asked Cullen, an incredulous tone decorating his voice.

“Yes, please…” Dorian gave him a slightly hesitant look and Cullen nodded.

“What about?” He moved back.

“Stay close. I like having you near. And… what’s the matter?”

“What do you mean?” Cullen pressed up close, wrapping his arms back around his lover.

“You aren’t yourself.” Dorian ran a hand through the Templar’s curls. “What’s got you so scared?”

And with those words, Cullen’s plans to keep Dorian oblivious to the Blight went down the drain.

“There’s a Blight coming.” He whispered, his fingers gripping the back of Dorian’s robe as he buried his face into the man’s neck.

“A Blight? Really?” the interest in Dorian’s voice was clear, but Cullen managed to not flinch.

“Y-Yeah.” Tears prickled at his eyelids, the stress finally catching up with him. “I didn’t want you to worry about it. You guys can’t run. Villages in Ferelden are evacuating and you have to stay here.”

“Come here.” Dorian muttered, wrapping Cullen up as close as he could. “Don’t keep these things from me. I want to be here for you.”

“I didn’t want you to be afraid.”

“I’m only afraid of demons. Darkspawn? Death? They don’t worry me.”

“Not you, but me? I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” 

They sank to the floor in a tangle of limbs, Cullen finally letting loose all the feelings he had been hiding. It hurt to sob, pain striking through his chest as he curled into Dorian. His thoughts drifted to his family; to his parents and his sisters and his brother. He had no idea if they had evaded the darkspawn, if they were safe in Denerim with his mother’s brother or if they were lying dead in a field somewhere. 

The fear made him quiver, it kept him awake at night and it filled his head while he stood around on duty during the day. The only moments of reprieve were those spent with Dorian. He relished the times spent pressed against his lover, breathing in that oddly spicy scent that Dorian had when he didn’t use his ‘home-made’ cologne to cover it up.

“Y-You can’t tell anyone. Greagoir said we aren’t allowed to talk about it.”

“I’m good at keeping secrets for you.” Dorian gave him a small smile, his hands once again playing with blonde hair.

“Really? What secrets?” Cullen gazed curiously at Dorian. However, the Templar didn’t tense up, he trusted Dorian to keep his secrets. 

“You said… weeks ago, you said you’d been chosen to deliver the killing blow.” The Mage whispered.

“I… I said that?” Cullen gave him a horrified look, realising he had mentioned something of the Harrowing to an apprentice.

“I suspect you were in shock, amatus. Don’t worry.”

“Amatus?” Cullen pulled Dorian’s hand out of his hair and linked their fingers together.

“I… I don’t know. I’m not sure what it means, but I know it fits.”

“Maybe I should learn another language? Maybe we could work out where you came from?” Cullen grinned weakly at him, tear trails still visible in the flickering candle light.

“We could.” Dorian laughed, a smile blossoming on his face; a genuine, if small, smile was echoed on Cullen’s. “But I want an element of mystery to myself.”

“You want a hidden past?” Cullen chuckled.

“I have read a couple of stories and the one with a dark, secret past is always the most tantalising. Though, I bet I came from somewhere warm.”

“You are always cold.” But Cullen was openly laughing now too.

He shifted onto his knees to kiss Dorian, a soft and sweet gesture that quickly gathered heat when the Mage pulled him down as he flopped back onto the stone floor. Cullen went willingly, pressing Dorian down as his lips moved down to suckle at the dark, sweaty neck.

“Oh, fuck. Wait, Cullen? Seriously? Awesome!” 

“What?” Cullen rolled off his lover to look up at the off-duty Templar who had entered the alcove.

“I’m just grabbing a book. As you were.” The man chuckled to himself as Cullen blushed a deep pink. Beside him, Dorian let out a delighted laugh, mirth sparkling in his eyes as he watched the colour flood his face. 

“I… I…” Cullen stuttered.

“Indeed.” Dorian pulled Cullen close again, pressing kisses across his face.

Cullen shut his eyes and tried to focus on Dorian, on the feel of his body underneath those robes. When Dorian hiked the skirt of his robes up to better spread his legs, Cullen managed to completely ignore the laughter from the Templar as he left and settled comfortably between them.

“As we were, then.” The Mage whispered in a low voice. The Templar grinned and sealed their lips together.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Lift not the painted veil which those who live call life; though unreal shapes be pictured there..." Percy Bysshe Shelley

“Wynne's back.” 

“Did she say what's happened?”

“Apparently the troops at Ostergar were slaughtered by the darkspawn.”

“But she got away...”

“The First Enchanter has had a healer with her since she got here.”

 

Dorian paid little attention to the the mages huddled near the books on famous mages. He was trying not to stare at the templars in the room. If only they would move. He had decided to speak to Anders and the hidden passageway that passed close to the isolation rooms could only be reached when a sprite opened the switch on the other side of the third bookcase along from the start of the section on magical creatures.

It was a terrible idea. There were no windows into the isolation rooms, but the passageway went along side them. You could talk to people in there, but you had no way of knowing whether or not a templar was nearby. 

Anders was not a popular man. There had been a chance for people to spend time outside again several months ago; some had loved it, others had hated it, but before most of them had had their turn outside to exercise, Anders had ruined it for them.

Dorian was fairly confident in his belief that the templars had wanted Anders to try and escape, so that they could claim they had tried giving the mages more freedom but that it hadn't worked. There was no other reason to include that man in one of the first excursions otherwise. After all, he had escaped more times than anyone else, he knew passages that no one else did; he typically was watched so closely by templars that he had no privacy whatsoever. 

However, out of everyone in the tower, Anders was the one who might have some idea of how to handle the blight. Dorian had spent time reading up on blights, trying to determine how much of a threat it posed to them. He'd found that darkspawn tunnelled; the lower levels of the tower went deep into the earth... If there were hoards of the monsters making their way to the surface, then the tower _could_ be overrun. 

He needed a plan, and his best bet for making one was to use the knowledge that Anders possessed.

The mages moved away to the central room in the library and the templars followed them. Summoning a wisp as he moved, Dorian hurried to the far wall. The dot hummed as it passed through the wall and pressed against the correct stone. The bookcase shimmered and the young man stepped through the illusion, shuddering as the fade rippled around him.

Once inside, the wisp was the only source of light, and Dorian quickly removed his boots and stockings. It was entirely possible that his footfalls wouldn't be heard through the stone anyway, but Dorian didn't want to take that risk. He padded quickly down, robe hiked up in one hand while the other pressed firmly to the fall to help him balance.

“Mr Wiggums?”

Anders' voice was rough, but the hope in it made Dorian pause for a moment. The other man had been down here for months now, all alone. He almost felt cruel for having not thought to come down sooner... but then he dismissed it. They weren't friends, and Anders was the reason he had never been outside. 

“Just me, I'm afraid.” Dorian whispered. After a moment's silence he added, “Dorian.”

“Oh?”

“I... There's a blight coming. I wanted to ask you about outside.”

“Outside?” 

“Yes please.” Dorian nodded as he sat down on a step. 

“I guess...” Anders sounded puzzled.

“The books say that darkspawn decimate towns and villages. I assume that means they head towards them. A- Are there any near here?”

“How near? Ozammar is to the West, about three days on foot at a decent pace. North East of here are the coastlands, but they are mostly only small villages. Crestwood is the nearest town if you are walking. Redcliffe is closer if you have a boat.”

“I need information, but I don't know what I need.”

“Are you planning to run? If you are, I feel I should warn you...”

“Of what?” snapped Dorian, nerves bubbling up.

“You won't be able to run, not quickly. Try and find a horse.”

“Don't... I thought horse riding was something you had to learn...”

“I thought I was fit, then I tried running once I got outside. The first time, I was sick just from being outside. Then I realised that wandering through the tower doesn't build up stamina. You'll also need to chance clothes, robes make you stand out a mile.”

“People don't wear robes?” In the fade, everyone he encountered wore robes. Even in his memories, distant as they were, he remembered people wearing robes.

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

“Because robes are expensive and not really practical.”

“Expensive?” Dorian stared at the wall separating them, eager to hear more of this bizarre world. “As in money?”

“Not a myth. People use it to barter for things. They sell stuff to get it, then use it to buy things.”

“I understand the theory.” Dorian replied, his voice too full of wonder to snap. He'd read books that explained the power that money provided, but he had no real understanding of this power. “Thank you.”

“I've a request of my own, as it happens.”

“How may I help?” Dorian asked as he got to his feet.

“If there is a blight coming... remind them that I'm down here?”

“Oh! I- Yes, I will.” Dorian startled as he realised how helpless the other man was. “I'll let them know.”

“Thank you.”

As he headed back up, Dorian couldn't help but wonder about the people who lived outside the circle. What were they like? How many towns and villages were there? How much bigger was a city?

His mind buzzing, Dorian didn't notice the fuss until he had wandered back to his bunk.

“What's going on?”

Templars were rushing through the corridor, shouting loudly as they went. Cian hurried over to him, small legs stumbling as two dark eyes stared up at him.

“There were an abomination.” It was one word that every mage in the tower knew. It had no positive connotations attached. “And they was shoutin' about blood magic.”

The child trembled as Dorian spun around. 

“Blood magic?”

“Aye. Enchanter Uldred was shoutin' that were shouldn't be scared an' that we have roles to be better than what we are.”

“Shit.” Dorian swore. Blood magic, abominations and Uldred; just what he needed when he was trying to sort out an escape plan for if the blight doomed them.

“Aye.” whispered the boy, wiping his eyes on his tattered sleeve. 

A screech by the far door made them both jump as what had to be an abomination limped inside. Fear flooded Dorian's mind as he looked at the creature, its face warped beyond anything human. Grabbing the boy's arm, he ran from the room with Cian struggling to keep up with him. 

“Hurry!” he yelled as he moved, passing some mages who had chosen to fight. 

“Yeah.” the child yelled back, his breathing laboured as they moved. “Th-tha-that was a... an- an abomination...” 

They halted as Dorian stared hopefully up at the door to the next floor. Would it be unlocked in the chaos? It was typically locked so late in the evening. Screams erupted in the library behind them and Dorian decided they had to try. Pelting up the steps, he grinned as he realised it was open. 

“Come on!” he shouted to Cian as he moved through into the store room.

They only got a few steps in when Enchanter Richard smirked at them. With a wave, Dorian was trapped in a crushing prison and it took only one more for Cian to be bound. His strength sapped, Dorian dropped to his knees when he was released.

“Now, now...” tutted the enchanter as Dorian reached for his staff. “I wouldn't do that if I were you.” 

Elsabeth and Jerome strutted out beside Richard.

“What's going on?” He hissed angrily at them, wondering where the fuck the templars had disappeared off to. He's take having his mana drained if it meant theirs was too. 

“Uldred has a plan. We aren't going to have to bow to the templars anymore. We won't need to hide here. They shall bow to us. They shall beg! Stand with us! No more shall we have to hide from reality. We shall join the outside world and we shall discover their reality and they get to understand ours.”

“No.” he whispered, fear keeping him on his knees. Most the templars were proud to a fault. They must be dead. Dorian trembled and as he was dragged along, he though of Cullen. Thinking of Cullen was typically far more pleasant than thinking about abominations, but now the two combined and his mind flitted around the idea of becoming an abomination and killing Cullen with his own hands. As they were pushed upstairs, Dorian trembled at the thought of such helplessness. 

“Uldred will make us great again."

"Lift not the painted veil." murmured Dorian to himself as they continued. They were about to have their reality ripped away from them and he knew it would not be pleasant.


	5. Chapter 5

“No. Please! Don't.” 

“Now, now. You templars have been most cruel.”

“Greagoir will have sent for the Rite of Annulment. Surrender and maybe he will let you live.”

“What a bore. I think I preferred the begging. He won't be able to purge this tower, he doesn't know its secrets. Isn't that right, Irving?”

 

In Kinloch Hold, life between mages and templars was, for most of her inhabitants, tense. One group viewed the other as captors holding the mages, forcing them to regret a part of themselves they had no control over; the other group viewed the first as layabouts who had everything provided for them, no hard labour or true grit involved. Even so, for all the bitter resentment, things had not been so bad in many years.

They were huddled in the Harrowing Chamber. Hands bound behind their backs and eyes kept desperately on the floor. Dorian had always longed for his turn in here, but never in his head had it played out like this. Senior Enchanter Uldred had never been a particularly agreeable man, but Dorian could never have imagined this! Their mana had been drained to the point where he felt dizzy just sitting down, and Dorian could see no way out of this nightmare.

Uldred was bringing up templars, one at a time to torture them. He played sickening games with them, taunting them with the chance of freedom before transforming another mage into an abomination. 

Then he would bring up another.

The screams seemed never-ending, even after the templar was dead and another was being brought up. Muted sobs could be heard from the mages would were here unwillingly, including Finn who was curled up beside Dorian.

Finn was the son of a Magistrate and his parents had enough influence that they occasionally visited; Dorian knew they even wrote to their son all the time. While Dorian generally avoided Finn, as the sight of him often filled Dorian with envy, now he didn't much care about family, neither his nor Finn's. 

“How did he get so much support?” whispered Dorian, eyes flicking from their spot over to the other man. 

“I- I thought you heard everything.” Finn replied, voice hitching as he tried to smile. “He said Loghain Mac Tir would give us more freedom. A lot of people liked that.”

“How did we get from that to this?” He puzzled, clenching his eyes shut as the templar's words dissolved into screams.

“I- I don't – sorry.” Finn pressed closer to Dorian, barely able to talk as fear took him. “He's b-building an a-a-army. Oh no!”

Dorian's eyes snapped open at his exclamation, expecting a hand ready to drag one of them over to become an abomination. It was the templar's body that had landed near them... close enough for them to see his unseeing eyes.

“Venhedis!” He swore, pulling his knees up to his chest and shutting his eyes. He wished that he had thought to put his cowl on; it generally spoilt the effect of his hair by hiding so much of it, but Dorian would have liked the comfort of feeling more covered.

An army of abominations? That templar had been right; they would all be killed, mana cleansed and helpless to stop the destruction. Another templar was dragged up and Dorian heard Irving give another angry shout. The mage glanced up and saw Donald, and older templar who always tried to be kind to the mages. Even so, he let out a tiny huff of relief; he didn't know what he would do when Cullen was brought up... _if_ Cullen was brought up. He may have died fighting already.

The thought had him pressing against Finn as he tried not to whimper; it was too hard to even pretend they would be emerging from this intact though, he couldn't attempt to talk himself around as he watched Donald sigh and refuse to join in with Uldred's games.

“He's ran out of mages.” squeaked Finn, though Dorian refused to look up. He didn't want to see this, etched into his brain as this already was. “Y-You don't think... D-Do you, does he need willing mages, so you suppose?”

“I... I...” but Dorian couldn't answer. He was twitching as the yelps rang out, desperate to do something, but unable to bring himself to try. 

“Maybe not. Guess that's why we're h-here rather than dead.”

Dorian wished he would stop talking; the nervous chatter was making him feel sick and he was trying not to cry himself. The next templar was younger, but he had dark hair. Dorian shut his eyes again. He hoped things would die down soon, that Uldred would lose interest. A fair number of his abominations had already wandered off to lower floors and not come back. 

The taunting went on a while this time, the man responding so quickly that Uldred sounded delighted with his reactions. The hope that things might fade soon remained little more than a terrified and desperate wish. The man was enjoying himself too much.

“Come on. Come on. Come on.” whispered Finn beside him.

“What?”

“This is the part where the hero turns up, right? I th-thought it'd be earlier, when they started killing templars, but it'll be now. Any minute now.”

Dorian didn't have anything to say, so he kept his head down and listened as Dorothy was pulled over to Uldred.

“Do you accept the gift I offer?”

“No! Of course I don't! You're a fucking lunatic!” she yelled, anger warring with terror in her voice as she snarled at him.

Uldred laughed.

Dorian couldn't help raising his eyes, watching to see what would happen, to see if she would turn. Magic rippled through the room as the abominations suppressed her and Uldred used some more to help cast his spell. 

One of the abominations dropped, unconscious as the experience took his consciousness. However, even as he fell and Uldred scoffed “Weak!”, Dorothy rose from the floor, the top of her robes seemingly merged with her flesh, the skin pulled horrifically across her face. Dorian curled up tighter and shut his eyes, trying to seem smaller than he was. 

“You're a sick bastard!” yelled Huxley, his anger winning out over his fear. He'd been good friends with Dorothy. 

“Bring him here.” Uldred simply sounded amused.

There were shuffling noises as the abominations made their way over, more cursing and struggling and then a yelp as Huxley was pulled away. There was a thump as another abomination dropped.

“You do not like my plan?”

“Like it? You... you're insane.” The anger was seeping out of his voice, fear taking its place.

“Shame. I'm helping you become more than you are. You should accept that.” 

“Never!” as they spoke, Dorian's mind was whirling. It seemed the struggle of unwilling mages took the strength out of the abominations. There was a plan in there, he just needed to focus his mind enough to find it. He kept his face down as magic crackled. A plan; he just needed a plan.

“Do you accept the gift I offer?” 

There was a grunt from Huxley, them Dorian heard footsteps, loud clanking footsteps. He looked up. As once-Huxley got to his feet, Amell stepped forwards. Behind him, Wynne was glaring; a red-haired woman with daggers stood one side, blood dripping off the blades, and a warrior stood on the other, a helmet covering his face and a sword and shield in his grip. 

Amell... Dorian hadn't considered an outside help, but of course it would be Amell. He'd always had unbelievably good timing. Finn was sobbing even harder now, swearing softly whenever he caught his breath enough for words.

Dorian couldn't relax though. Amell hadn't won anything yet.

“Ahh, I remember you. Irving's star pupil.” cooed Uldred. “Uldred didn't think much of you then, and I certainly don't see your appeal now.”

“I'm still a circle mage, and what you've done concerns me.” There was a snarl in Amell's voice that he couldn't quite hide, but the words at least were careful. Amell had always gone for diplomacy over aggression. 

“I'm quite impressed you're still alive. Unfortunately, that must mean you killed my servants. Ah well, they are probably better off dying in the service of their betters than living with the terrible responsibility of independence.” 

Dorian thought of the Tevinter empire at these words. All he knew of it was that the people there had slaves, that mages were free but used blood magic, and the nation was renowned for its population of heartless bastards. Uldred would fit right in.

“You'll soon follow your servants.” Amell replied, hand reaching back for his staff. Apparently his patience had come to an end.

“Wait, wait, wait... Let's not be hasty. I'm trying to have a civilised conversation here!” 

“What are you trying to accomplish by torturing these people?” There was a real growl in his voice now, though his hand paused mid-reach.

“A mage is but the larval form of something greater. Your chantry vilifies us, calls us abominations, when we have truly reached our full potential.” Uldred took a step forwards, eyes shining as he spoke. It was frightening to see how much he believed what he said. “Look at them! The chantry has them convinced. They deny themselves the pleasure of becoming something glorious.”

“You're mad! There is nothing glorious about what you've become, Uldred!” spat Wynne. Dorian had never heard such emotion in her voice, she'd only ever been soft-spoken around him. 

“Hahaha, Uldred? He is gone. I am Uldred, yet not Uldred. I am more than he was.” As he spoke, he stepped back, crossing his arms over his chest. “I could give you this gift, Wynne. You and all the mages. It would be so much easier if you just accepted it... but some people can be so stubborn.”

“I'm glad so many of them stood up to you.” Amell responded, head high as he took a threatening step forwards. The others behind him moved closer as well.

“And what good did that do? I still won.” Then he glanced to the side and smirked. “Wait, what do we have here? Why, it's the First Enchanter. Come say hello to your old apprentice, Irving! Don't mind the blood, he's had a hard day.”

“What have you done to him?” Gasped Wynne, but Dorian couldn't see her expression. He'd not really looked at the First Enchanter yet, but he looked awful. He couldn't look away.

“Stop him.” Irving rasped at them, his voice hoarse as though he had been screaming, and maybe he had. Dorian and Cian had been some of the last mages to be dragged up here. “He... is building an army. He will... destroy the templars and - ”

“You're a sly little fox, Irving, telling on me like that.” interrupted Uldred, before turning back to the threat to his plans. “And here I thought he was starting to turn.”

“N-never!”

“That's enough out of you, Irving. He'll serve me eventually, as will you...”

“No, I think it is you who should serve me!” Amell's anger was evident as he observed Irving. 

“Ha! I serve no one. No... I have plans for you. Great plans... Your raw potential, with the strength of a demon behind it, would be unstoppable. I can do that. I can give you power, and a new life.”

“I'm sorry.” Amell had far too much aggression in his voice for an apology. In any other situation, Dorian might have chuckled quietly to himself about that. “I can't let you do that.”

“I don't think your opinion matters. That is what I've decided, and that is what will be done. Fight, if you must. It will just make my victory all the sweeter.”

Wynne whispered something to Amell as they grabbed their weapons, but Dorian didn't hear it; he was shuffling backwards as quickly as he could, desperate to keep as far out of the way as possible. Several others had the same idea, wiggling across the floor as best the could. He couldn't miss the burst of magic that changed Uldred into a demon though. He looked like a pride demon.

A warm pulse flushed through the chamber as Wynne began casting regenerative spells. Amell pressed the heels of his palms together and sent fire towards the abominations as their two companions threw themselves into the fray, nimbly dodging the flames. 

As they picked off the smaller threats, Uldred backed away. He stretched his hand out towards Samuel and the air around the fallen man began to swirl.

“Do you accept the gift I offer?” the monster asked.

“Use the litany!” yelled Wynne and Amell held a scroll before him and read out words that Dorian didn't recognise.

Dorian lay on the floor and forced his body to relax as the fight continued to rage around them. He'd play dead in the hope that Uldred would not try to turn him. Across the room, he could see Cian pressed against the fleshy material that had presumably grown since Uldred had taken control. Dorian shut his eyes, willing himself to block out the whole thing. 

“He's doing something to one of the mages!” came the cry, and Amell spoke those strange words again. 

Hiding in plain sight wasn't a cowardly thing to do. Amell seemed to have things in hand, and Dorian would just be in the way. Besides, he had never fought hand to hand before, as he would have to do with his mana drained... In fact, Dorian couldn't remember ever having a serious magical fight before either. He had no experience to draw from here.

He felt someone settle near his feet, either moving out the way themselves... or dead. Dorian didn't know which and still didn't dare look.

“No! Leliana!”

“Here, I've got her.” 

“Argh!”

The yells continued, though they started to sound fatigued. Dorian was more focussed on not vomiting. Terror crowded so tightly in his mind that he couldn't think.

“For the Grey Wardens!” shouted the armoured man and Uldred cried out.

Dorian looked up in time to see Uldred fall, the man on his chest with the sword piercing the monstrous face.

“First Enchanter!” Amell was running over before his friend had even extracted his sword.

“Maker! I'm too old for this.” groaned Irving as he got to his feet.

Dorian shifted as they spoke, and found himself with Finn in his arms. Moments later, Cian had launched himself at them too. He took a moment to take comfort from those who weren't his friends, but who had also been through this terrible experience too. 

He remained on the floor long after Irving and Amell had left, after Cian and Finn had limped out and numerous others had gone. He stayed until a templar took his arm and spoke to him in a voice softer than he had expected.

“Come on, that's it. On your feet.”

“Is...” Dorian forced himself to look up at the covered face as opposed to the floor. “Did anyone else...?”

“About fifteen templars survived... and with the those of you who survived up here, I think there are about twenty mages left.”

“Th-That's it?” Dorian's knees gave out, shock rocking his body which was already sapped with the time drained of mana. 

“That's it.” the templar's voice cracked as he spoke, the pain evident. 

“Cullen? Is he-?” They began to descend the stairs. Dorian was thankful that someone had sent kinder templars up. He was still too weak to get down on his own.

“He's alive.” 

“Thank the Maker.”

“But I think you can forget about any relationship.” They made their way through the templar halls, and Dorian half wanted to shut his eyes at the number of bodies and rotten corpses that lined the tower.

“May I ask why?”

“He's... angry. He wanted the Rite of Annulment, from what I can tell.”

Dorian had no reply for that. He felt dazed as they moved through the library and then passed the apprentice quarters. They stopped in the chamber by the basement entrance, and something occurred to him.

“Anders! Is he alive? Did anyone check?”

“I'll mention it. You sit here.”

The man moved away, and Dorian curled his legs up. In the next room along, he could hear Amell asking about help for the blight, and he wanted to laugh. Help from who? There was barely anyone left.


End file.
